


Take Your Time (Love in the Time of Thieves Remix)

by a_q



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, Domestic Fluff, Family, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Morning After, Mpreg, Multi, Polyamory, Remix, Revenge, Royalty, Theft, Threesome - M/M/M, Wedding Night, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:23:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_q/pseuds/a_q
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"In a world where Shaw isn't really that bad and desperately needs an heir, there are men who can bear children and Charles is one of them, married off to Shaw in a business transaction. He's sheltered and clueless and terrified out of his mind, so Shaw calls in Erik, his first man-wife, and has him show Charles the ropes."</i> </p>
<p>But first, there was the wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Your Time (Love in the Time of Thieves Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Not_You](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Take Your Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/564333) by [Not_You](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You). 



> This story started as a second fill to a kink meme prompt, that Not_You brilliantly filled. At the time, all I had was a big chunk of political jabber and wedding jitters, and not a bit of smut; so nothing truly fun for a kinkmeme story. I put the story at bottom of my wip pile and forgot it there. 
> 
> I followed Not_You's serie unfolding, the way they build the world in the story, creating this glorious fantasy-medieval domestic poly bliss that just drew me in. Luckily, Not_You kindly gave me permission to write a remix, and I got a chance to visit the world they created for a moment. This is the result, and I hope they like it!

”I have reached an understanding with Lord Marko,” Sebastian said and leaned back in his chair. It was a new and polished chair, an odd contrast with his worn writing desk. They had better desks now, but Sebastian refused to get rid of this one. It had been with them in every battlefield, and they had consumed their marriage on top of it, the only dry place in the muddy pit of Meso Valley battle.   
Erik knew every dent and nick on its surface, the same as he knew his husbands every mood. He watched as Sebastian ran his fingers along the deep gouge left in the wood from a failed assassination attempt. 

Something troubled him. 

”What kind of understanding?” Erik asked. 

He hadn't been part of the negotiations with Lord Marko. At first he had been angry that Sebastian had left him out of it, when the contract was the key element of his plans to build a mine to the mountain side. Then he had met Lord Marko in person, and Erik had realized that it was for the best that he had stayed away. Lord Marko had loud opinions about bearing men, and he didn't shy to tell Erik what they were. If he had been forced to spent time in the same room with the man, he would've killed him. Sebastian didn't have such scruples when it came to getting what he wanted. 

”We get the mountain and a substantial tract of land along with it. We will redraw the maps to show the new border, and the contract will be verified with all our neighbors. It will be our land by law.”

“In exchange of what?”

Sebastian stared at the desk, avoiding his eyes. 

“Marko has a step-son from his late wife. This Lady Marko was a wealthy woman of her own means, sharp and well read. When her son was born she had a testament made, where she secured a hefty sum to him. The boy is soon old enough to demand his mother's inheritance paid in full. Marko has no interest to agree on this, but the testament was cunningly drafted. She didn't leave him land or estate, only gold. Melted in logs, like firewood. Law observes those as personal property, not part of the estate.” 

Sebastian shifted in his chair, taking a deep breath before turning to look at him. 

“Marko offers the mountain as the boy's dowry. In exchange, we forfeit all future claims to this inheritance. Of course, the mining rights will more than compensate that loss in the long run. Not that Marko realizes that, the man has an insight of a gnat. He cares about the gold piled in his treasure room now, nothing more. It's an excellent deal for us.”

Erik tensed. “Dowry? You mean you agreed to marry this boy?”

“He's in the proper age. And a bearing man.”

Erik tried not to let his emotions show. He couldn't conceive more children, after the Slough Fever had burned him hollow. He had accepted that loss, but Sebastian hadn't, and the matter had turned into a barbed issue between them. Sebastian pushed for a marriage, while Erik had argued that they didn't need a new wife, for he would accept any of his bastards as their own children, give them name and raise them as his own. Sebastian didn't agree, claiming that would only invite trouble under their roof. They had dropped the matter when the winter came, so they wouldn't part in discord when Sebastian left to the border, but Erik had known it wouldn't be long before the topic would come up again.

“You accepted a stranger into our marriage without consulting me,” he said, struggling to keep his voice level. “Did it occur to you that I might not like it?” 

“What is this? Jealousy?” Sebastian asked, his voice tensing. “You are my consort and my regent, nothing changes that. We'll give the boy a title, a household to run. He won't challenge your place. After the wedding you don't have to see him again outside the official functions, if that's the kind of marriage you want.”

Sebastian knew full well that wasn't the marriage he wanted. He wanted a family, not two separate households under one roof. Erik leaned back in his chair, turning to look outside, where the wind tore into the banners, flying the colors against the sky. It would be winter soon, and he would be alone again for months. A second wife would help break that loneliness. But it burned him that Sebastian had done this behind his back.

“Tell me about this boy.” 

“His name is Charles Xavier. He was five when his mother died. Lord Marko has his particular view on bearing men, as you know, so he sent the boy to the school at the Mercy Fall. Out of sight, out of mind, as it was.” Sebastian made a disgusted sound. “You know how those people approach education. The young lord might be well read with all theoretical matters under the sun, but I suspect he'll be blissfully ignorant about all other pertinent aspects of life. The social intricacies, the court life. Marriage duties. He could use your help.”

“Yes, I would imagine.” Erik said, keeping his tone neutral. He turned to look at Sebastian. He seemed nervous. Erik had rarely seen him nervous about anything. “Did they give you a portrait?” 

Sebastian held a portrait case to him and Erik reached to take it. He snapped it open. The quality wasn't much, but the painter had managed to express some intelligence in the eyes, a pleasing shape of face and mouth. But the boy in the picture was just that, a boy. He closed the case and left it at the edge of the desk. 

“He's young.”

“All the more reason for you to guide him, help him settle to his new position. I belief he could grow to admire you greatly.” 

“Save the compliments, I understand what you're after,” Erik said bluntly. “You want me to break him in to his wife duties.” 

He knew his husband. Innocence bored him. He saw virgins as too much trouble, and he had no interest using force for something that was easily acquired in other ways. Sebastian wanted to get between the boy's legs, but he didn't want to work for it. 

“Maybe 'take him under your wing' would be more productive route,” Sebastian suggested. “We have our fair share of enemies. If the boy doesn't settle well, they might find ways to use him against us.” 

“I know. That worries me too,” Erik said. “I'm not against this from plain jealousy, as you like to think.” They both knew that most direct way to destroy someone was through their home, and back in a day they had exploited that strategy to the fullest. It would be fitting if they suffered the same fate. 

“Then you understand why I need your support on this. But if you are truly against it, I will tell Lord Marko that there is no agreement after all,” Sebastian said and reached to take the portrait. He opened the case, holding the picture up for him to see. “Before you make up your mind, I want you to consider what your decision means to this boy. You met Lord Marko in person. What do you think will happen to Charles, when we pull the marriage offer?”

“No. Don't do that,” Erik said, his anger rising again. “My decision will base on you, me and Anya, that's all. Not some imaginary threat to some stranger!”

“It's far from imaginary. He tries to claim his inheritance, he won't see the next sunrise. With us, he's at least safe and cared for.”

Erik grimaced, turning to look outside again. Of course Sebastian knew what ropes to pull to get him dance along his tune. Let him first entertain the idea of a second wife, give a name to the image, and then yank it away, to make him want it back. Erik knew his game, and still he couldn't help falling for it.

Sebastian could do that to anyone. Play them, find their weakness and work it for the outcome he wanted. That had been one of the things Erik had found attractive in him. He had been lost after the death of his family, and Sebastian had always known what they deserved, what they were fated to be. Erik had fell into his view of the world, fighting and scheming with him, from insignificant lower nobility to the royal couple, with a loyal and trained army supporting them, kingdom worth its weight. 

And their strength had always laid in their unity, in the bond between them. In family.

That's why he understood why Sebastian wanted more children to their name. Children were a way to secure ties to other royal houses, way to build their legacy. They could be even stronger, but only if there was someone to bear those children for them. Anya would do great things when she grew up, Erik was sure of it, but she alone wasn't enough. 

“We need a second wife to our union,” Sebastian said gently. “If not him, then someone. You pick a wife for us, and I'll accept your choice without a question.”

“You have decided for us.” Erik looked at the picture. “He'll do as well as anyone. I accept him.”

***

Anya sat on the windowsill, staring out to the courtyard. She had kept an eye on the gate all morning and nothing Erik suggested made her leave her watch. A fine quality for a soldier, Erik thought as he set the plates on the table. Beef and vegetables. Next to him the new nursemaid poured fresh milk to a cup and set it next to Anya's plate. Her name was Mary, and she was a quiet and polite girl. Erik feared Anya would wear her out in a week. 

”Come away from the window,” Erik said. ”It's time to eat.”

”But I want to see him,” Anya complained. ”Father showed me his picture, and I want to see if its any liking to him.”

”It doesn't matter if it is or isn't. You'll be kind and courteous to him, no matter how he looks. Come eat your lunch before it gets cold.” Erik walked over to her and lifted her from the sill, setting her down on her feet. He pointed at the table when she opened her mouth to complain. ”Now, please. I'll watch for you.”

She frowned and stomped her feet on her way to the table. Erik ignored her little show and glanced out the window. A servant swiped red leaves from the stone tiles, nothing else happened. The trees were still in full autumn color, but leaves were already falling. It wasn't an ideal time for a wedding, but this had to do. They couldn't push the ceremony over the winter. Because the wedding, Sebastian would have to leave later to the border than usually. That was a month more together, but still the fall made him uneasy, as usual. 

Erik was about to turn away and sit down with Anya, when a small carriage rattled to the courtyard, surrounded by four horsemen in a strict formation. Erik turned back to the window, leaning to the sill to catch a better look. The soldiers dismounted, standing by their horses, looking around the courtyard. He could see them speaking, but he couldn't make out what they said. 

”Is it him?” Anya asked and hopped off her chair and rushed to his side, the napkin still tugged in her collar. ”Let me see!”

Erik lifted her back to the windowsill and Anya stood up, reaching to unlatch the iron hook to push a section of the window open. She bounced in excitement, her foot tapping against the glass pane. 

”Shh, careful,” Erik said and wrapped his arm around her small frame to keep her from slipping. They leaned to look out of the window together, both curious.

The carriage door opened and a tall man in a fur coat stepped out, turning to speak with the soldiers. The coat was made of black mink, shining in the sun. Erik frowned. There was something familiar about it. The coat looked like the one he had added to the gift chest, the one they had sent to the bridegroom as a welcoming gesture. But the man wearing the coat had dark hair, and was stockier than the boy in the portrait. There was more discussion, until the man turned to pull a young man from the carriage. This one was smaller and leaner than the other, and he wore brown coat. It looked too light garment for traveling. Autumn sun was deceptive around these parts. 

”Maybe that's his manservant,” Anya pondered out loud. ”Or his secretary. One maid said that some lords in the south have so many letters to write, that they have a secretary to do it for them.” 

”I don't know, dearest. That could be,” Erik said. 

He had a bad feeling about this.

One of the soldiers pulled a travel trunk from the back of the carriage, and thumped the trunk unceremoniously to the ground. The man in the fur coat got back in the carriage, the soldiers taking his cue and mounting back to their horses. The coachman snapped the whip and the horses stepped on, the man in a brown coat jumping hurriedly to the side. The carriage rattled out of the courtyard, the soldiers following in suit. 

There was some confusion as servants came to take the trunk, but the man tried to drag it himself without realizing that's why the servants were there. Luckily, Emma stepped out to the courtyard and took control of situation, explaining something to the young man and ushering him inside, out of their sight.

”I say that's not him,” Anya declared, disappointed. ”He only had one trunk with him. You couldn't fit all your dresses in one trunk, could you Mother?”

”No, I suppose I couldn't. Close the latch,” Erik said and after she did that, he lifted her down again. ”Now, finish your lunch, and then you and Mary could read your new storybook. I have to go talk with Matron.”

”But what if the new mother comes when you are gone?” Anya asked, looking worried. ”You'll miss him.”

”That's alright. I'll see him in the wedding then, don't you worry,” Erik said. 

”I wish I could go to the wedding. Why can't I come? I promise I would behave well all evening!”

”That's a big promise for a little girl,” Erik said and smiled, leaning to kiss the top of her head. ”We talked about this. Father will have his council before wedding, now that the lords are present and that takes time. It will be past your bedtime before the wedding starts. You'll meet the new mother later, and you'll have plenty of time to get to know him.”

”It's not fair,” she said, stabbing the piece of beef with her knife. “I never get to do anything.”

”No more arguing. And eat your lunch. If Mary tells me you finished your plate, we can go riding in the afternoon.”

“Yes!” She turned to her plate with a new determination. Erik made sure that Mary knew to keep a close eye how she ate her vegetables. She often tried to hide them in her pockets, and dribble down the hallway to get rid of them. Erik didn't know where she had came up with that idea, but she shouldn't do it now, when all the stuff was busy cleaning as it was. 

Erik closed the nursery door behind him and walked through the gallery and down the main stairs. The hallways were buzzing with servants, all rushing around to scrub, swipe and decorate the palace from top to bottom before the wedding. He asked the first maid he saw without a soap bucket to fetch Matron, and bring her to his office. The girl curtsied and hurried to find Emma. 

He went to his office and left the door ajar. He sat behind his desk and thought about what he had seen in the courtyard. That young man couldn't be Lord Xavier. But who else could it be? Why wasn't there anyone to company him? This had to be some sort of mistake.

His desk was neat, but he organized it anyway, needing something to do. He was about to rearrange his pen tips when there was a knock on the door. 

“Come in and close the door. Sit down.”

Emma bowed shortly before taking a seat in the chair squarely in front of the writing desk. Erik had decided long ago that the woman who could run their household with the accuracy of a military campaign, didn't need to curtsy to him. Emma was his right hand woman. Nothing got past her, so nothing got past Erik. 

“Tell me that wasn't Lord Xavier arriving with all his belongings.”

“It was, sire,” Emma said, her mouth a tight, disapproving line. 

“And there's no retinue following him? It's just him?”

“I asked if the ten rooms reserved for him and his company would be enough, and he didn't understand what I meant. He said that one room would've done. I fear he's here alone, sire.”

“And that one trunk he had?”

“Its full of books, sire.”

Erik leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Are you telling me he doesn't have any clothes? He must have a wedding garb. Robe, or a jacket? Anything?”

“Trunk stacked full of books,” Emma repeated. “Perhaps a clean shirt, but I wouldn't wager money on it, sire.” 

Erik opened his eyes, expecting to see that she joked. She looked as serious as always. Erik reached to take an empty piece of paper from the neat stack, their talon sigil pressed in red ink at the bottom. He chose a pen and tried to think what was the most urgent matter. Wedding garb. He started to write. 

“I suppose it's safe to guess that he doesn't have any of the jewelry or cosmetics the we sent him either,” he said without looking up.

“Nothing of the kind, either with him or on him,” Emma said. “I didn't dare to ask too many questions. He's a scared, jittery little thing. More like a field mouse than a lord, if you want the honest truth sire.” 

Erik felt a headache creeping on. The wedding was on a tight schedule as it was, and now the task had turned practically impossible.

“Then we have no choice but to make him look like a lord that he is, because we can't marry a field mouse.” Erik signed the note and handed it to Emma. “Give this to a servant, and send them to fetch every seamstress they can find and bring them here. And merchants, send for them. What we can't make or find, we have to buy. Lord Xavier is our guest, he can't be alone. He needs a chambermaid at least. Who can we spare?”

“I'll find a girl who has the sense to act neat and won't mind doing everything alone,” Emma said. “He'll need a trusted man to look after him as well, sire.”

“Do you think he would resort to something desperate?” Erik asked, trying not to think what kind of mess it would be if the boy was silly enough to make a run for it, or even worse, hurt himself. 

“I've seen some wild brides in my time, sire, and this one was rather levelheaded. Scared, but I suppose that's understandable.”

“That's a small mercy,” Erik said. “I'll find somebody to look after him. Start with those merchants, thank you. And where's my husband at the moment?”

“Sire is still in the council meeting, they sent for lunch. Shall I send a word for him, sire?”

“No, don't bother. There's nothing he can do about this, I tell him later. But find my chambermaid and tell her to wait for me at the storage room at the north tower. The merchants won't have fabric fine enough for a wedding robe, we have to piece something together from my garments. That is, if we get enough seamstresses here fast enough. And we need his measurements. Steal that one shirt if you have no other choice.”

“I'll get on it at once, sire,” Emma said and stood up, bowing before hurrying out. Erik pulled another sheet of paper, starting a list of things the boy would need, and where to find them. Some necessities he could sent to him from his own stock, like toiletries and cosmetics, but some things had to be made to his measurements. Shoes. Shirts and pants. Underwear. Warmer coat. He pushed that at the top of the list.

He filled the paper from both sides and that was only things what came instantly to mind. He cursed the people who hadn't bothered to equip the boy to the lowest pits of nether realms. Trunk full of books, indeed. Damn good that did if he froze to death. 

He stuffed the list to his pocket and hurried to the north corner, walking up the long, narrow stairs to the tower. The chambermaid waited for him at the door, with a valet in tow. They curtsied and bowed, and followed after him to the storage room.

This storage room was cool even in the heart of summer, the air dry as sawdust on the floor absorbed moisture. The heavily decorated clothes and fabrics hung from cedarwood poles, that kept the insects away. Erik pushed open the windowpanes to let some light in. The air moved, the white covers rustling against each other. 

“Westchester colors are green and ivory, find anything that comes close.”

The chambermaid went through the directory, turning the thin sheets. “Indigo colored jacket has a ivory linen lining with green silk stripes, sire.”

“Linen, no. Too plain. Silk, or fine light wool could do,” Erik said, moving between the dresses. “And nothing dark. If not green, then gold or silver. ”

“A robe, apple green silk, with gold embroidery. Row six,” the maid read, and hurried down the row, pulling the cover aside, turning the hem toward the light. “Here, sire.” 

Erik looked at the motif, clusters of gold stars over flowing lines of peacock feathers. Bit boisterous for young man. He had worn this dress the day before the coronation, while receiving gifts and congratulations from ambassadors. Many had seen it, but it had been years ago. Maybe no one remembered this particular combination. 

“Peacock wards off evil, it could work. At least the color is about right. Is there anything else?” The valet took the garment in his arms, following them between the rows.

“Ivory underskirt for a robe, light wool. Decorated with blue silk embroidery depicting bees.” The chambermaid pulled a stack of underskirts and went through them to hold out the white one. “There's one in green, but it has black embroidery.”

“Take the white one. Next?”

“Silver coat with flowers.” She pulled the next garment down, holding it. “It's wool, but the motif is fitting, sire.”

Erik nodded and added it in the pile. They went through every row, and at the end the valet had an armful of clothes, as did the chambermaid. No color and motif combination was perfect, but few were close enough. Erik led them back downstairs, into his larger sitting room. They spread the clothes on every available surface. 

“It's a start,” Erik said, looking around the room. He took the list from his pocket, handing it to the chambermaid. “See if you can gather any of these things. And find Matron. I need to know if we get any seamstresses here or do I have to sew this damn dress myself.”

The chambermaid curtsied and returned later, with Emma and five seamstresses in tow. Erik set all available hands to work, and it wasn't until Mary came looking for him, that he remembered he had promised to take Anya riding. 

Erik left the seamstresses to work, and went up to the nursery to face his angry child. 

“You promised!” she claimed from the door. 

“I know, and I'm sorry,” Erik said, crouching down to look her in the eyes. “Do you remember that man with a trunk this morning? It turned out we guessed wrong, he's not a servant. He's your new mother.”

“He sure didn't look like him,” Anya said, making a face. “Did you ask his name?”

“I know its him. And you were smart to notice that he has no proper luggage with him. I've been trying to find him something to wear. We don't want him to catch cold on his first day here, do we?” 

“That's silly. Why won't he have clothes? Isn't he a Lord, like you?”

“He is. And that's why it's important that we help him now, isn't it?”

“I suppose,” Anya said. Erik kissed her and she hugged him in turn. “I still wish we could've gone riding.” 

“I know. After the wedding, we'll go see the foals, how's that? You can choose one, and name it.”

It took some assurance, but finally Anya believed that he would keep his promise and her mood brightened. Mary brought the supper and Erik sat and ate with Anya, listening her when she told him about her day. He stayed until Emma came looking for him. Erik kissed Anya goodnight and went back to his own quarters. 

He found the seamstresses gathered around the table, staring at a shirt and a brown coat like holy relics. Erik joined them, and it took some discussion before everyone reached a consensus what size the bridegroom was. Then they turned their attention to what pieces to use for constructing a proper wedding dress. 

Erik was neck deep in silks and arguments when there was a polite cough at the door. He looked up, finding Sebastian staring at him with a curious look.

“I came to ask why my daughter claims that I owe her a horse, but now I'm interested to know what's going on in here?” 

“Your daughter claims this because I didn't have time to go riding with her this afternoon, and I promised we would go look at the purebreds,” Erik said and waved the seamstresses to sit back down and keep working, instead wasting time curtsying. “And what you see here, is what it looks like when your wife has stooped to steal a shirt.”

“Is that so? And what drove you to this new profession?”

Erik looked around to make sure everyone had returned to their work, before taking his arm and nodding him to go back to the waiting room. He closed the door behind them.

“They send the boy to us empty handed.”

“What?”

“The soldiers dropped him on our doorstep, with nothing but the clothes on his back and trunk full of books. He has no servants with him, no companions. I'm trying to gather him something of a wardrobe so he can step outside without freezing to death. And he needs a wedding dress.”

“We gave him a dress, several dresses in fact,” Sebastian said quietly. “What happened to those? He didn't receive our gift?”

“I suspect that the Markos kept everything for themselves,” Erik said. “The clothes I can arrange, but he doesn't have anyone with him. That's a problem with the protocol. We can't go in his chambers to meet him. He can't attend any court functions without a retinue. He's stuck in his rooms.”

“Then we will meet him at the ceremony, that's all,” Sebastian said, like that solved the problem. “It's only three days.” 

“You don't understand,” Erik said, exasperated. “He has no one to turn to, no support. He's young, alone and scared. How do you think that will end? Three days is plenty of time to come up with all kinds of mad thoughts.”

They stood in silence for a moment. At the other side of door, Erik could hear the seamstresses arguing about the correct hem length. 

“Trunk full of books, you said?” 

Erik nodded. 

“What kind of talk would it cause if you gave him books as a gift, and send a scholar to discuss the topic with him? Wouldn't that be suitably neutral but reputable company for him?”

Erik considered his angle and nodded. “I don't think it would reflect badly on him. He would be pitied for such a cold gift, as it looks like I don't care for the new wife.” He thought about it a moment longer. “The boy might not understand the implications, and we can mend the situation later. It could work.”

Sebastian kissed his cheek. “Now, about the horse?”

“You would've given her one anyway,” Erik said, shrugging. “You have thousand horses.”

“Have you forgotten how to count, wife? I do not have even hundred horses, and those all I have to sell as there is merchants at the door, claiming His Highness has personally invited them here. You throw gold away with both hands!”

“I'll mine you more gold,” Erik said and smiled. “As long as you go away now and let me get back to battle this disaster.” 

***

The wedding day dawned cold, the first thin sheen of snow glimmering in the sun. It melt away before noon, but for a moment it made the world look brighter. Erik spent the morning with Anya, knowing that she would be in a bad humor about the wedding. She brightened when he took her to meet the master, who would orchestrate the fireworks during the evening. The master told her how he had enticed fire spirits as a young man, to learn this skill. He even fired a small firework for her alone, a golden blooming flower. 

“Can I stay awake to watch the fireworks?” she asked, her hand in his as they walked slowly back to the palace through the small garden. Erik nodded. 

“You can, for a bit. But only if you promise that when Mary tells you to go to bed, you do it without an argument.”

“I promise. Will you bring me wedding cake too?”

“Cake? Little girls can't eat cake! It makes them rowdy, and prone to wild antics,” Erik teased and picked her up, tickling her through the wool coat. She laughed, squirming in his arms. 

“I'm already rowdy!”

“Oh, well, in that case. One piece doesn't make any difference,” Erik laughed and kissed her cheek. She wrapped her arm around his neck, hugging him tight. 

“Mother, are you very sad?”

“Sad? No, I'm not sad. Why do you ask?”

“Mary said that wives cry in second weddings. I don't want you to cry.”

“That's only an old saying, dearest, it's not true. Today is a happy day. I won't cry, don't worry.”

“But the new mother, will he cry? I don't want him to be sad either.”

“I'll try to lift his mood,” Erik said, not daring to promise much more. 

“Let him watch the fireworks,” Anya suggested. “That made me happy.”

Erik laughed and tickled her again, and they talked more about the fireworks until it was time to go back inside. Mary waited at the door for them, and Erik leaned to hug Anya and give her more kisses, until she squirmed annoyed and he had to let her go. Mary curtsied at him, and went hurriedly after her.

Erik walked back to his own rooms, to eat a light lunch before he had to start getting dressed. He took his plate and went to sit on the window sill, watching the servants lit up the big brass cauldron on the courtyard. The guests wouldn't arrive from this side, but from the main doors. Still, he had asked there to be cauldrons at every corner, to create light and warmth. It would be festive when the night fell. 

He couldn't help thinking about Anya's words. He had been too occupied with the wedding arrangements to think how he should feel at the moment. Not sad. Frustrated and annoyed were closer to the truth. It had been a long three days.

For a moment, it had looked like his gift of books had helped the situation. The boy had eaten lunch with the scholar, and spent the afternoon discussing astronomy with him. Emma had sworn she had even seen him smile. Then some goose brained valets had told lewd jokes about bearing men, the boy had overheard this and all had crumbled apart. Erik had the valets whipped and sent packing, but the damage was done. The boy had locked himself into his room and refused to talk with anyone. Emma had to pull all her tricks to get him to crack the door twice a day for a tray of food, and without that, they wouldn't have known if the boy still breathed or not. 

Just thinking about it made the headache return. It was hard to find the thread of happiness from this mess.

“We should get started, sire,” Emma said behind him. Erik nodded and stood up, handing the plate to the maid waiting for it. 

He went to stand in the middle of the room, as the chambermaids spun in action around him. They were all skilled with these complicated garments, so he only had to lift an arm or a leg as directed. Sebastian had insisted that black wouldn't do this time, so he had chosen a brown robe, with copper colored embroidery and stoat fur trim. 

“How fares our bridegroom?” he asked.

“Not well sire,” Emma said, helping the first undershirt over his head. “All meals have come back untouched today and his bed doesn't look slept in. He let the maids in, but we have trouble painting and dressing him for all the crying.” 

Erik cursed loudly, the maids jumping in surprise. 

“Why are you standing here then? Go make sure that he's getting dressed properly,” Erik ordered. “And ask the cook to send up food, anything he might be interested to eat. I don't care if the cook has to fry a cat for him, but he eats. He can cry all he wants, but he won't faint during the arrival.”

If the bridegroom wanted to grief and wallow in his misery, there was nothing Erik could do to stop him. But he'll be damned if he let the boy embarrass them all in front of hundreds of guests. He would be clothed and stay on his feet, even if Erik had to clothe and fed him himself, protocol be damned.

Emma took one look at him and bowed, rushing out the room. 

“Bring me some wine,” he barked, and the maid handed him a glass. He took a sip and was about to take an another, when the chambermaid coughed cautiously. 

“We must paint while dressing,” she muttered. “It's a tight schedule, sire.”

Erik took a gulp and tried to calm down, handing the glass back. “Fine. Let's get this over with.” 

***

They waited in silence, kneeling side by side, as the priest opened the ebony cabinet that housed their deities, lighting the beeswax candles in greeting to them. The sanctuary was part of the main hall, hidden behind the dais with heavy, elaborately carved screens. A wooden box within the stone room, a place of silence and calm. They could hear the guests gathering outside, the murmur of their voices. 

Sebastian reached to take his hand.

“How are you feeling?” he asked in low voice. 

“Me? I'm fine. How are you?”

“I've one angry wife, and soon a second one who, I've been told, cries from the sheer mention of my name,” he said without a hint of smile. “I've had better days.”

“It's your wedding day. You should enjoy it.”

“Our wedding day,” he corrected. “It looks like no one involved with it will enjoy it. The guests maybe. They get to eat a big meal on our expense.”

“We can afford a meal,” Erik said quietly, slipping his hand free to hold his candle offering to the priest, who took it and light it, planting it in the fine sand near the iron deity. The flame flickered until it settled. 

“But we can't afford a disastrous marriage. We fall apart, then everything falls apart.”

“We won't fall apart,” Erik said. “I'll treat the boy with every respect the second spouse is entitled to. He'll lack nothing. Haven't I proved that?”

“You have, but you know I hoped for more than that,” Sebastian said, handing his candle to the priest. “He needs you. And its your responsibility as a first spouse to support him.”

“The religious texts speak of moral assistance, which I've shown. You want me to bed him for you. There is a difference.” 

Together they handed Anya's candle and Erik handed one more from himself, unnamed one to let the deities know he wished more children. He knew it was an empty hope, deities couldn't turn Nature's judgment, but it didn't harm to light a candle anyway. 

“The religious text tells you to offer assistance in the manner the second spouse requires it,” Sebastian whispered, reaching to take his hand again. “The moral side is only an interpretation. And I recall a particular time when such matters didn't even cross your mind, dearest.”

Erik shushed him, and he smirked in reply. Their deities were not particularly humorless, but it didn't mean he should say whatever came in his mind in front of them. The priest signaled they should now bow their heads in prayer, as the priest spoke to the deities, reading their wishes to be blessed in their union. 

He tried to think about what it would mean to agree and go with Sebastian in the bridal bed. It wasn't the physical side that bothered him, they had shared lovers before. But he feared there was something cold and unyielding inside him, that would prevent him feeling the happiness he should feel. That the coldness would come forth, wound them all. He shouldn't be there, not tonight. Maybe later, if the new wife would ask for it himself.

The priest turned and signaled them to rise, conveying the deities words of guidance to them. First the priest read a passage to them both about the noble task they were about to undertake, then turning to Sebastian and speaking him about the virtues of the marriage shared. Finally, the priest turned to him and Erik tried to look attentive as the priest started to read about the responsibilities of the first spouse, the exact passage Sebastian had quoted. 

From the corner of his eye, Erik noticed how Sebastian's shoulders tensed and he bowed his head further down. Erik realized that he tried to hold down laughter. 

Bastard. 

The candles on the altar burned brighter, the flames dancing high. Erik bowed his head in apology. He felt his iron deity touch him, its presence warm and assuring, giving him strength. He reached to take Sebastian's hand, squeezing his fingers. The priest drew a blessing over them and nodded, giving them leave. 

They straightened and backed away from the altar, stepping out of the sanctuary. 

“Ready for the next part?”

Erik nodded. 

They took their place at the steps of the dais, waiting for the bridegrooms arrival. Erik looked carefully around, taking in the mood of the room. The candles smoked and flickered in the draft, the room warm from the gathering of so many people. The guests chattered, moving from side to side, curious to see who had been invited and how they had arrived. The musicians played up in the gallery, adding another layer to the cacophony. 

The musicians held a small pause, and the guests hushed quiet, the crowd parting in two. There was shuffling, bit of polite shoving to get the best spot, as near the runner as possible, without stepping on it. There were many pointed glances at his direction, and Erik kept his expression neutral, his back straight. He knew what reaction they were panting for. After a crying bride, the next best thing was a crying first wife. 

The musicians started the bridal tune, light and airy piece that made Erik think of birds in the height of summer. Soldiers in dress uniforms moved to the door and pulled the heavy sides wide open. People craned their necks to see better, and few ladies yelped as their feet or trails got tramped. No one cared to look, as all eyes were glued to the figure standing in the doorway. 

Lord Xavier was taller than what Erik had thought, lean and wide shouldered. Erik looked at the robe first. It fit. The apple green silk formed the base, on which they had constructed ivory sleeves and fused the embroidery together with silver overlay, to hide the difference in motifs. The lining was white and striped with silver. The hues didn't match one on one, but at least it looked dignified. He didn't wear any jewelry, and Erik had to stop himself from frowning. He had picked the daintiest pieces he had, milky opals and gold, and used his magic to shape the metal to resemble the fashion of Westchester. Maybe the boy hadn't cared for it. 

Sebastian glanced at him in the corner of his eye. 

“I see your handiwork,” he said in low voice. “Beautiful. How many robes you had to sacrifice?”

”Three,” Erik muttered back.

”Well worth it.”

“He's not as small as I feared,” he muttered back and Sebastian's lip tugged into a tiny smile. 

“Now you approve?”

“We'll see.” 

The music changed, and the bridegroom started his long walk with a hesitant step. His step-father trudged next to him, more interested staring at the necklines of the ladies and greeting acquaintances, than escorting his warden. Behind them walked a soldier in Marko's colors. It looked like Lord Marko had a contingency plan in case the boy would try something desperate. 

Erik looked at the boy more closely. He had seen men walk to be hanged with brighter looks, but at least the boy kept his back straight and walked forward with more poise than what his step-father managed. He didn't wear a smear of cosmetics, and he was pale as a sheet, the purple circles under his eyes betraying that he had cried his nights away. And green wasn't his color, it gave him a sickly pallor. Despite all this, he was rather beautiful. 

There was plenty of whispering, and even some quickly covered titters, as the guests realized that the bride had no party to follow him, beside the lone soldier. 

Sebastian tensed when he realized the same, his jaw clenching. Erik squeezed his hands to fists to contain himself. It was an open snide on Marko's part, he had to plan this. 

There was no stopping the walk, or the gleeful whispering surrounding the bridegroom. The music could only do so much to hide the laughter. Lord Marko didn't seem to care about the insult of his actions. He further proved that point as he suddenly stopped and bowed at the general direction of the boy, before gesturing the soldier and taking his place in the crowd. 

It was a tradition that the bride should take a few steps toward the groom and their family out of their own volition, to show willingness, but the boy had half the length of the hall to cross. He stood there alone, looking confused, frozen in place. The guests whispered louder and the boy paled even more, shaking visibly. 

”He won't make it on his own,” Erik whispered. Sebastian nodded in agreement, glancing at him. 

”Can we go to him?”

”You can't,” Erik said and straightened, relaxing his hands. ”Try to look like we planned this.”

Erik stepped down from his place, and walked to the boy with calm, disinterest air, like the guests and their gossip was as insignificant to him as the buzz of flies. When he reached the boy, he shifted his expression, beaming such warmth at him that the air around him should've burst to flames from the strength of it. No one could doubt if he welcomed him in their family. It would break the sharpest edge from the gossip. 

”Almost there,” he muttered to the boy and stepped to his side to support him. He shivered in his hold, so Erik didn't waste any time. He ignored everything else and marched him to Sebastian. He took the boys hand and kissed it, then lead him to the sanctuary where the priest waited to introduce the bridegroom to the family deities and bless the union. 

Now that the most thrilling part of the wedding was over, the guests broke into smaller groups, talking loudly about what they had seen, the music drowned completely. 

Erik withdrew to the small side room to wait. He sat down, feeling the headache coming back. Emma offered him a glass of wine without a word. 

”Is the dinner ready to be served?”

”Yes, sire.”

”Watch the wine flow, and make sure that someone keeps an eye on that Lord Marko. He will steal everything that's not nailed down, I have no doubt about it.” Erik sipped the wine and handed the glass back to her. ”And few servants at the boy's side as well.”

”Yes, sire.” 

“How bad is it?”

“The talk? Regular gossip, nothing more. I wouldn't bother thinking about it, sire,” Emma said. “Lord Marko isn't well liked, and most blame falls on him, not us.”

There was a bright sound of a bell, and the music changed in cadence. 

”Congratulations on your new marriage, sire.”

”Let's make it through the night before we call it a victory,” he said and stood up, shaking the heavy fabric to set it smooth. 

He went back to the hall, accepting congratulations and well wishes in short nods. Sebastian lead his new bride toward the doors, holding his arm firmly as he exchanged short pleasantries with the guests. The bride didn't seem to able to do more than hold a stiff expression that might have been a smile. Erik walked after them, keeping his distance. 

The guests trailed after the bride and groom, looking for their seats in the dinner service. Weddings were a perfect occasion to greet acquaintances and make new connections, and therefore Erik had made a decision to arrange the diner seating less formally than what the tradition dictated. There was more tables in smaller configurations and room to move around. The servants brought new dishes to the tables in steady intervals, dictating the rhythm of the dinner. People were happy to finally sit down and eat, so the mood rose as the wine started to flow. 

Erik had a table of his own, holding a gathering of important lords and ladies whose support Sebastian wanted to secure. Erik worked hard to keep the conversation light and interesting, while sidestepping the curious questions about the new bride. By the seventh dish, he was exhausted, the headache throbbing in his skull. 

When he had a chance, he stole glances at the main table. The servants kept placing dish after dish in front of the boy, but he showed no interest to any of them, the plates leaving as untouched as they had arrived. Erik tried to catch Sebastian's eyes to nod him toward the problem, but he was too caught up with discussing the oncoming winter with the old general next to him to notice. He looked around to see if Emma was close, but people were moving from table to table and he couldn't see her. 

Erik felt tired to the bone. He had worked endlessly on the boys behalf, they all had. His well-being had been their first concern for days, and what good had it done? The boy sat on his chair like one of Anya's porcelain faced dolls, empty eyed and silent, a creature far removed from the man who had tried to drag a trunk full of books on his own. Erik prayed that spark of fight was still in him. If it wasn't, he would perish in the first childbed, and all this had been for nothing. 

He couldn't stand the noise any longer and as the servant cleared his plate, he used the lull in discussion to stand up, excusing himself from the table. He walked out to the courtyard and breathed in the cold, clear air. A guard stood near the door, and he saluted when he recognized him. 

“Do you have smokes on you?” he asked. The guard stared, frozen in salute. “Go on man. Speak up.”

“I do, sire. But not the fine kind,” the guard said, shifting uncomfortably.

“Doesn't matter. Hand me one.”

The man fumbled with his pockets, pulling a flat, dinged case and holding it open to him. He took one, nodding in thanks. The paper was coarse and yellow, the tobacco rolled in too tight. He lighted it up from the lantern, and inhaled. The smoke scraped in his throat and tasted awful, but it didn't matter. His headache started to ease. 

He walked bit further in the courtyard, looking up when the fireworks turned the sky in glimmering colors for a moment before fading again. He wondered if Anya sat on the sill, and if Mary knew to wrap a blanket around her so she wouldn't catch the cold from the window.

He heard the guard salute again, his armor creaking. Erik glanced over his shoulder, cupping the smoke in his palm. Sebastian smiled, noticing the old gesture and walked to him. He plucked the smoke from his hand, drawing a breath and blowing the smoke out in long stream before handing it back to him.

“You left him alone? Is that wise?” Erik asked.

“I left Matron in guard. There's no soldier present who can get past her,” Sebastian said, wrapping his arm around his waist, pulling him against his chest. “Apparently, my presence ruins my brides appetite, and Matron kindly suggested I go do something useful during the meat course. Shame. I like venison. Though I did hear some unsettling rumors about a fried cat dish.” 

“Don't belief everything you hear,” Erik said and tried to smile to his teasing. 

He looked at him closely. “Retiring so soon, beloved?”

“Our guests can drink themselves under the table without my presence.”

“I need your presence,” Sebastian said and kissed him, his fingers playing with the fastenings of his robe. “In fact, I'm rather desperate for it.” 

Erik elbowed him, and he groaned as if wounded by a blow. 

“Save your stamina to your bride,” Erik said. “I've done my part for tonight.”

”I hoped you changed your mind on that. I like my bedmates warm and willing, and who better to show him how its done than you? Remember how the priest instructed you on your new duties.”

”I remember. And I will share your bed again, but not tonight,” Erik said. “I think he has had enough stares for one day. You'll have better luck without onlookers.” 

“Participate then, same to me.”

Erik dropped the smoke to the ground and stomped over it to put it out. “You can handle one boy. Just remember all the battles you've won. I doubt this one will break you.”

”I'm not so sure. Wives can be cruel creatures,” he said and pulled him back to him, kissing him hard and recklessly, smudging his lip paint. Erik returned the sentiment, the kiss turning deeper until he had to pull away. Erik smiled and reached to rub the silver stain from his lip. 

“Leave it. Then I'll have you with me at least in thought,” Shaw said and kissed his fingers. 

“Go to your bride. I'll see you in the morning,” Erik said and turned to walk back inside. He fought the need to look back. He knew his resolve wouldn't have lasted an another word. 

It wasn't his night, and he held on to that.

He went to the kitchen to get a piece of cake before going up to the nursery. Mary sat in the chair by the fire, and she got up when Erik came in, curtsying quickly. 

“Did she make fuss about going to bed?” Erik asked, handing the cake plate to her. 

“Not at all, sire,” she said and went to take the plate to the small storage room. It would keep there until tomorrow. Erik went to Anya's room and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching to kiss her. She woke up, blinking drowsily. 

”Mother, is it over?”

”Yes, dearest. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow. Go back to sleep,” he said quietly.

”Did you bring me cake?”

”Of course. I promised, didn't I?”

”You don't always do what you promise,” she muttered, drifting back to sleep. 

Erik couldn't argue with that. He tugged the blanket better around her small shoulders, wondering where she had gotten that direct mind. He hoped it was from Sebastian. Then they would have more sharp minded children. He imagined more children sleeping here, how they might look, with combination of Charles' looks and Sebastian's will. Not much could stand in the way of their progeny. They could set the world ablaze. 

If there would be any children.

He leaned to kiss Anya once more, and left the nursery, walking through the quiet hallway to his own chambers. The chambermaid waited there to help him undress. It took some time, and when she finally lifted the robe off his shoulders, Erik sighed in relief. He sat down, plucking the rings off his fingers. He set the jewelry in the boxes and the maid brought him a washbasin filled with warm water and drop of scented oil to swipe the cosmetics away. He took his time with that, stopping to admire the fireworks when there was a new wave of colors in the sky. Sebastian had been generous with fire masters pay. 

He finished cleaning up, pulling on a fresh shirt the chambermaid held for him. 

“Would you get a bed warmer for the bed, and fetch me a glass of wine?” 

“Yes, sire.” The chambermaid curtsied and left.

He sat down by the fire, looking around the room. His bed looked cold and empty, and he tried not to think what Sebastian did right now. Knowing him, he had skipped the cake and had already pushed the boy on his back. He shoved the thought aside. 

The chambermaid came back and set the wine on the table, looking alarmed. “Apologies, but Sire requires your presence in the bridal chamber.” 

“Why?”

“The servant didn't say a reason, sire.”

Erik stared at her calmly.

“The servant saw the new consort in bed, wailing, sire.”

Erik closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel the headache returning. For a moment he considered sending a word that he was indisposed, but he knew Sebastian would come see for himself, and he would know if he lied. 

“Bring my housecoat,” he said, getting up. He went to put on his pants and glanced at the mirror to make sure he had managed to get all the cosmetics away, brushing his fingers through his hair to get it settled. “Damn Sebastian. What have you done to the poor child?” he muttered to the mirror. 

The maid brought the coat and Erik pulled it on, tying the belt and hurrying out. The hallway was cold underneath his bare feet and he made a quick beeline through his floor and down the servant's stairs to Sebastian's quarters. He knew where the bridal chamber was set, since he had supervised it himself. He went into the small waiting room and the servant pounced to his feet at once, going in the room proper to let Sebastian know he had arrived.

Moment later he came out, holding a sheet around his waist. He had a strained look about him, his shoulders trembling. At first Erik thought he was angry, but then he realized that he shook with a quiet laughter. 

“I expected a _solemn_ try, you know,” Erik noted. “What happened? What's so funny?”

He didn't stop laughing, pressing his face against his shoulder in the effort to muffle the sound. 

“He thinks...” he managed to start, squeezing his arm as he gathered himself. He took a deep breath and straightened up, looking at him with feigned seriousness. “My new wife is convinced that I will murder him with my cock. Apparently, one look might do it.” 

He started laughing again.

“Haven't I warned you about empty boasts?” Erik asked, smirking. “And I'm here to do what? Temper your murderous rage? Chain the dragon?”

Sebastian laughed even harder. “Please, have mercy on me, I beg of you. I need you.”

“I hope you had the sense not to laugh at his presence. The boy must be petrified.”

“I held myself together admirably,” Sebastian said. “He's eating sweets and drinking firewine, none the wiser.”

“Firewine to an empty stomach? Good god, you'll end up holding the bucket for him in an hour,” Erik chided. “You, collect yourself, and I'll try to save what I can.”

Erik went into the room. There was a fire in the fireplace at the other end of the room, candles at the side table. It was warm and cozy, smelling faintly lavender and burning wood. The large bed was made with eiderdown pillows and duvets, cased in white linen like he had ordered to. The boy sat in the middle of the bed like a bird in a nest, a lump of color among the whiteness. Without the wedding garb, he looked smaller, but also more alert. 

He had a wineglass in his hand, halfway up to his lips. 

“Pass me my wine, little one,” Erik asked before he could take another sip. He blushed and handed the glass over hurriedly. His eyes were clear and hands steady, which was good. One disaster averted. 

Erik gulped the glass empty, letting the warmth settle in his chest. He held the glass out and the servant took it, clearing the tray from the bed to the side table. The boy stared at him with wide eyes, like he had no recollection of seeing him before this. Erik didn't blame him. He knew how fear shrunk the world to a size of a pinprick. You saw nothing outside of your own terror, and the walk had been an ordeal. 

Erik tried to decide the right approach. They hadn't met, but he had learned something about him in these last three days. He knew that the boys mind was the worst enemy here. If he gave the boy time to think, he would turn himself in so many knots that he would be impossible to unravel. It would be best to make his mind blissfully empty, stop him from feeding his own fears. Erik knew some tricks to achieve that. He approached the bed slowly.

“Your portrait didn't do you any justice,” Erik said. “I could hardly tell the color of your eyes from such piece. Would you let me take a closer look?”

He looked hesitant, happy in his save spot in the middle of the bed, but Erik waited patiently for him to make the first move, holding his arms open for him. Finally he crawled closer, the silk of his robe slithering with his movements until he was close enough for Erik to reach and hold him. He cupped his chin with one hand, tilting his head gently. 

He relaxed against his hold, and that gesture made Erik suddenly realize that the boy was relieved to have him here. It was a sobering thought. He felt a bang of guilt for his own doubts and hesitation, for leaving him waiting for his support, that belonged to him without asking.

“Have you been kissed, little one?” His voice trembled, but the boy didn't notice. 

“O-only at the ceremony, my lord.” 

“Hand isn't the same as the lips,” Erik said. “Especially with a mouth like yours. It's the perfect type for kissing.”

“It is?” Charles whispered.

“Yes. Here. Let me show you.” He leaned in and kissed him, careful at first, and when he felt ready for it, teasing his mouth open. He tasted like honey and wine. As the boy got braver, Erik nudged him on, feeding him just the tip of his tongue, to test his reaction. He moaned and pressed closer. Erik heard the door open behind him and pulled back. The boy sighed disappointed, dazed look on his eyes. Erik smiled. There might be a spark there, after all. 

“Is he a quick study?” Sebastian asked behind him, sounding more like himself.

“He is lovely. Come, try for yourself.” He stepped aside and Sebastian took his place, leaning to kiss Charles in turn. He lifted his head coyly to meet him and opened his mouth when Sebastian nudged him to do so. Now that his attention was fixed, Erik reached to pull open his robe, stroking his smooth chest and teasing the perfectly pink nipples with his thumb. His moans turned to whimpers when the dual sensation overwhelmed him. They backed slightly, giving him a moment to catch his breath.

“You run point dearest,” Sebastian murmured under his breath, moving aside, out of Charles' line of sight. He sat on the bed, staring at them, curling back to the defensive lump. Erik smiled and took his arm, gently pushing it away from his chest and peppering his neck and shoulder with quick kisses that enticed a coy laughter from him. Erik pulled the robe away, unwrapping him like a parcel. He had fast fingers and light touch, and Charles hardly had time to squeal before he was stark naked and on his back on the soft eiderdown. 

“Well done,” Sebastian said from the other side of the bed as the settled down to watch. Erik glanced at him, and smirked. He took his coat and pants off, but leaving his shirt on before climbing on the bed after Charles. Erik laid down next to him, leaning his elbow to the soft mattress, stroking his heated skin, light and teasing.

“Do you touch yourself, little one? When you are alone?”

“S-sometimes, my lord.”

“Where do you like to touch? This here?” He moved to stroke his cock, quickly growing stiff in his palm. 

Charles nodded in reply, biting his lip. 

“Show me how you like to do it.”

He hesitated, blushing crimson and Erik reached to take his hand, leading it down, helping him along until he started to move his hand in cautious tugs along the length. 

“That's lovely,“ Erik praised. “Darling, what do you think?” 

“He is cautious to reveal his real secrets, as man should be,” Sebastian mused, picking up his light tone. “I think he must do more.” 

“I think so too. What about here, little one? Do you touch yourself this way?” Erik asked and trailed his hand down, brushing the underside of the boy's cock before reaching to caress his delicate slit, hidden behind his balls. He teased the opening, parting the tight lips. He was taut and unbroken, but the moment had its effects on him, as he was slightly slick. 

“God, Sebastian. He's so _tight_. Be careful when you take him,” Erik said, and realized his mistake as Charles stopped in mid-stroke, his body tensing, his mind feeding the fear again. 

“Shh, don't worry darling,” Erik said, returning to stroke his cock instead, the safer sensation. “When our husband opened me, it didn't hurt a bit, even though he has big, rough hands and we did it on a wobbly writing desk. In the end, I begged him to fill me again, it felt that good. I want you to enjoy just as much. Would you let me help you? We can do it together.”

“Y-yes... Please?”

Erik felt Sebastian's excitement without even looking at him. He leaned to kiss Charles again, spending what felt like a golden eternity exploring his mouth, trailing his fingers up and down his lean body. Sebastian coughed pointedly and Erik let his mouth go, pressing his fingers on his lips instead. Charles caught on his meaning and sucked first two fingertips in his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as his tongue moved, sucking his fingers with gusto. Erik looked at Sebastian, raising an eyebrow in silent question. 

“Lesson for another time,” Sebastian said. “There is more important place for my seed tonight. There can't be any doubt who he belongs to in the morning.” 

“Always so short-sighted, when there's fun to be had,” Erik complained. 

“I just prefer to play the very long game. Keep going.” 

Erik threw him a disapproving glance. He was doing the work here, all Sebastian had to do was sit back and enjoy, wank lazily and wait his turn. He smirked as a reply, slow and lascivious. Erik scoffed and turned his attention back to the boy, pulling his fingers from the warm confines of his mouth. He let go with a loud pop, opening his eyes. 

“I will teach you to do wondrous things with that pretty mouth,” he muttered to him before sliding his hand back between his parted thighs. “But now we must obey our husband.”

He rubbed his wet fingers against his slit, spreading the slick. Charles squirmed, squeezing his arm, like he couldn't decide if he should stop him or ask him to go on. Erik pushed a tip of his finger carefully into him, feeling the natural resistance. Charles gasped and Erik cooed sweet praises to him, kissing his shoulder as he worked his finger deeper. Charles answered with sighs and moans, his hesitation melting away when instincts took over. 

Erik leaned to capture one pert nipple between his lips and flicked his tongue over the sensitive flesh. Charles bucked his hips in reply and Erik's finger was knuckle deep without him realizing. Erik pulled his hand away and concentrated to his nipples for a moment. Charles' gasps turned more desperate and Erik lifted his head. 

“So that's what you like. Try this, it'll help,” he said and moved, sliding his hand free between his thighs and swiping his tongue over his nipple before grabbing his wrist and placing his hand on his chest. Charles traced the route of his tongue with his fingers, groaning.

“Like that? Do you want more?”

“Yes, please sir, please, I...”

That was what Erik wanted to hear, the loss of coherent thought. He smirked at Sebastian and returned teasing the boy's slit open, moving his fingers around the opening, plunging in for a teasing moment, then back again, stroking his cock to keep him on the edge, until Charles whined and rocked his hips for more, so wet that they could both hear it. 

“There we go, just like that,” Erik muttered, adding a second finger, stretching him now that he was ready for it. “Doesn't it feel good? See how silly it was to be afraid?”

Charles nodded, and Erik kissed him, stretching him with more purpose, trying to find the precarious balance between discomfort and pleasure. 

“Do you think he's ready?” Sebastian asked, inching closer, reaching to brush Charles' smooth skin. 

“Nearly so,” Erik said, knowing that the moment couldn't drag on endlessly before Sebastian would lose interest in this game and simply take the boy, ready or not. Erik pulled his fingers away as a test, and Charles made a plaintive noise, pushing his hips up. “There we go, little one. You want your husband now, don't you?”

“Y-yes,” he muttered, flushing pink.

Sebastian chuckled, rising up on his knees, fully hard. Charles stared at him, unable to look away. Erik felt him tense, clutching his arm for comfort. “I promise he's not too big,” Erik whispered to his ear, stroking his cock to keep the pleasure fresh. 

“Please, don't leave,” he pleaded. 

Erik kissed him. “I'm right here with you. You'll be fine sweetheart.” 

Charles still looked nervous, and Erik held him close, turning on his back and pulling him with him. Charles got the idea and clambered on top of him, resting against his chest. Erik petted his back, murmuring encouragements to his ear, reaching to stroke his slit from this new vantage point. He was wet, and eager, pushing his hips to get more of his fingers. Erik nodded at Sebastian, who settled behind him, rocking his hips to rub the slick tip of his cock against Erik's fingers and Charles' wet slit. He nudged his balls and Charles cried out again, and Erik shifted his hold, fondling him while luring him to a kiss, to distract him. 

Erik kept glancing at Sebastian over Charles' head, signaling him to hold back a second more. He could see how close he was to lose his patience, his muscles taut, jaw clenched shut. But he followed his cues, just rubbing and breathing with them, until Erik moved his fingers back to Charles' slit, holding him open. Sebastian held Charles' waist, fingers splayed over his pale skin, carefully easing the thick tip of his cock into him. Erik was ready for a scream, but he had done his part well, because Charles only gasped and spread his legs wider. 

Erik didn't know what to admire more, the look of surprise on his husband's face, or the sweet, unabashed lust on Charles' face as Sebastian sunk further and further into him. Their pleasure made his blood run hotter, like they were both seeping inside him. He had been foolish to think he couldn't enjoy this. There was nothing but pleasure here.

Sebastian grunted, speeding up his thrusts, the wet sound of it delicious.

“How does it feel?” he whispered and Charles moaned in reply, his chest rubbing against his with every push of Sebastian's hips. 

“Good...Hurts, uhh, good, more, more,” he muttered against his skin, holding on to him.

“It'll only feel better when you get used to it, boy,” Sebastian said and leaned on him, pushing deep as he reached to nibble the shell of his ear. Erik laid under their combined weight, sinking in the mattress, feeling lighter than air. 

He didn't know who came first, but he saw the change in Sebastian's body first, then heard the difference in Charles' wail, and they twitched together, the release wrecking through them. Erik wanted that too, but he was too caught up drinking in the sights and sounds, the smell of sex thick on their skin.

But Sebastian knew, reading him as well as he read him. He pushed his hand between their bodies, thrusting his fingers in his slit. He twisted and pumped ruthlessly, knowing what he needed.

“Thank Erik now,” Sebastian said to Charles, laying boneless on top of his chest. “Use your hand, quick now.” 

Charles tried, but his touch was much too cautious to do any good and Erik placed his hand over his, tugging hurriedly. It didn't take much, and he grunted, trying to hold still and not jolt Charles as he came in a hot burst. 

“There's my good darlings,” Sebastian murmured. 

Erik watched as Sebastian pulled out slowly, hand on Charles' hip to keep him down. Erik wrapped his arm around his waist, knowing what he had to do. Sebastian fetched the plug, shaped to be comfortable and meant to help keep the seed where it did the most good. Sebastian held it between his hands to warm it, the fertility sign carved on its base. 

“Take a deep breath,” Erik whispered and Charles obeyed, and the plug was in its place before he hardly noticed what happened. 

Sebastian helped him to lift Charles carefully off of him. Erik got up and went to fetch a washcloth from the small adjoined room where the servants had prepared plenty of warm water near the washstand and a collection of all kinds aides for any possible emergency. Medicine, mundane magic, clean clothes. Emma had set this room, and she had been thorough. 

Erik poured warm water to the basin, added a splash of rose water before moistening the washcloth in it. He cleaned himself first, threw his ruined shirt into a basket and put on a clean one. Then he moistened another washcloth before returning to the bedroom. 

He switched places with Sebastian, who went to wash up while Erik knelt next to Charles. He had already dozed off, but when Erik smoothed the washcloth over his chest, he startled awake. He fixed his eyes on him, and Erik didn't know what such serious look meant. He continued washing him in silence, giving him room to speak or stay silent, as he wished.

”Thank you,” he said suddenly. ”For everything. I heard that... They told me. The dress was beautiful. Thank you.”

”I'm glad you liked it,” Erik said and continued with his task, until he realized that silent tears were rolling down his cheeks. Erik captured them with his wrist, brushing them away. 

”Shh, shh. Are you uncomfortable?”

He shook his head. 

”Then what is it?”

”I didn't know about the gift chest you send. When I found out about it, that all those things were meant for me, it was already too late. I didn't try to get them back, I didn't know how, and you had to destroy your garments because of me. And those opals, I've never seen anything as beautiful, and I let him take them too. Please, forgive me. How can I ever repay you?”

”We are family now, there's no need for repayment,” Erik said quietly. “Shh. Its only cloth and pieces of rock, nothing to cry over.” 

Erik brushed his cheeks until the tears stopped, dabbing the streaks away with the washcloth. When he calmed down, he set the washcloth aside and helped Charles slide his feet under the duvet, tugging it up to his chin, making a little nest for him, like he did for Anya when she had bad dreams.

“I had a hope chest,” he muttered drowsily when Erik leaned to adjust the pillow under his head. “When I was little. I remember that my mother showed it to me. She had bought a necklace, with a sapphire that I had to hold with two hands. She told me I would wear it on my wedding day. I don't know where it is anymore, he broke it down...” He drifted off, and Erik stroked his hair until he fell asleep. 

Erik backed away carefully, not to disturb him, and sat down at the foot of the bed to think.   
He thought about the opals, how he had spent hours crafting that necklace. About a sapphire size of a child's hand. How he had chosen Anya a diamond bracelet for her hope chest before she had been even born. And then he thought about a mother, who would melt gold to look like firewood, so her son wouldn't be left with nothing. 

He thought all of these things, calm and focused. 

Sebastian came back from the washroom, drying his hair in a towel. He took a one look at him and froze. He dropped his hand slowly, not making any sudden moves. 

“Beloved? Whose blood you thirst?” 

“Marko's.”

“We can't murder our guests,” he said, approaching him cautiously. “Come away from the boy.”

Erik stood up stiffly, still thinking. “Anya reminded me of that old saying today, you know it? The wife cries at the second wedding, and the husband every day after it?”

“It's past midnight then, I take.”

Erik nodded. 

“Do you need a weapon?” He considered his words. “Do _I_ need a weapon?”

Erik shook his head and picked up his clothes from the floor, getting dressed. “Go back to bed.”

“I'm sure I don't want to know what you plan,” Sebastian said, taking his arm. “But if you need, I'll swear in the name of any and all deities that you have not left this room all night.”

“You are a good husband,” Erik said and kissed him. “Go to sleep. I won't be long.”

*** 

Erik stopped by his own room first, fetching his shoes and changing into his black jacket. He also took a small charm bag and put it in his pocket before heading back out. 

He took a longer route to the guest wing. At this hour, the problem wasn't avoiding guards or errant servant, but to stay away from groups of drunken guests, trying to find a way to their rooms. But this was Erik's home, he knew how to get around without being seen. It took time, but finally he got to the side door, that lead to the room reserved for Lord Marko. The door was locked and he pressed his hand over it, saying a word of command. The iron leaped to obey him, recognizing his magic. Erik pushed the door open and slipped inside. 

He stayed near to the door, listening, ready to slip back out if need be. The room was empty and quiet. The embers glowed in the fireplace, few candles flickering on a metal plate, the wax melted into a puddle. Erik pressed the door closed and stepped further in the room. He closed his eyes and recited a spell, the words pressing heavily against his skull before skittering free over his tongue. 

When he opened his eyes, the room looked different, illuminated with glowing colors, every piece of metal in the room revealing itself to him. Wood and stone showed as empty, gray space, for those elements didn't obey his magic. He adjusted to seeing room like this, picking up familiar shapes to find his bearings. Table was dark square, dotted with bright red dots of iron nails. Trunk same, but smaller, with more red for the hinges and corners. There was plenty of buttery yellow of gold within some empty spaces. Erik focused on those.

He spotted a thin white halo among the yellow, the magic he had used to shape the opal necklace reflecting back to him. He closed his eyes, releasing the spell. He opened his eyes again and walked carefully to the armoire where he had seen the halo, trying not to bump on anything. Shifting between visions was more confusing to the legs than to the eyes. 

He opened the armoire door. He knew the general shape of the case, but it still took a few tries before he found the right one. Inside the case was a large leather bag and he glanced inside it. The opals sat on the top in a messy pile, next to it one of the jade bracelets that had been part of Charles' gift. Erik didn't bother digging deeper. It was enough proof. 

He took the charm bag from his pocket and pressed it against the leather bag, igniting the spell before dropping the charm bag inside the case. It wobbled uncertainly, then the spell popped open, the charm bag turning into a perfect copy of the leather bag. It was an effective spell. Erik had bought it from a woman who specialized in imitation magic. It would hold a week, and you could even open the fake bag, the spell replicated the jewelry as well. Lord Marko could admire his loot, until it would vanish without explanation.

Erik shoved the leather bag under his arm, returned the case to its place and closed the armoire door. He slipped out the room the same way he had came in, the iron lock rattling back in place when he touched it. He walked back to the servant's stairs, staying in the shadows when a yawning girl carrying a bucket came down and slipped up when the coast was clear. 

He returned to his own chamber and locked the door behind him. The fire had died down and the room was dark, the glass of wine still sitting on the small table next to the fireplace. He went to shove the coals, adding some wood to it to get some light. He sat on his chair and emptied the leather bag on the table. The loose pieces rolled and clattered around and he gathered them to a pile. He found all the bracelets and necklaces that they had chosen for Charles, and his opals. He set them all aside, to give him tomorrow. There was bag of gold coins and he set it aside as well. Charles might like to give them to the seamstresses and maids who had sown the wedding dress, it could ease his guilt about the matter. 

There were smaller pouches too, some new, some old and worn. He opened all of them. One had amber beads, another filled with pink pearls. There was rubies and diamonds mixed together, then a dozen yellow stones in different hues, maybe topaz or citrine. Without metal to hold them, the gems were silent. Erik didn't know who they had belonged to, but he decided to make quiet inquiries, to see if he could track down the rightful owners.

The last pouch was dirty, the seams almost falling apart. He tipped the bag carefully over his hand. The gems rolled out and he looked at his hand for a moment, astonished. 

Their deities had certainly accepted Charles to their family. Ordinary luck couldn't explain this.

He got up and went to his jewelry box, picking a better bag for the gems and poured them into it, and put the bag in his pocket. He pulled one of the drawers from his dresser, swooped all the rest of gems in it and put it back. They would keep there for the time being. He tossed the leather bag on top of the basket of firewood. He would tell the chambermaid to get rid of it tomorrow. 

He walked out, closing the door behind him and walked back to the bridal chamber. He slipped quietly in, and found Sebastian awake and waiting. He watched him undress and then shifted, turning the covers. Erik slipped next to him, pressing to his side.

“You look pleased with yourself,” Sebastian whispered. “And your feet are cold.”

Erik smirked. “How's the little one?”

“Sleeping like a log. He doesn't snore.”

“Hm. Happy news,” he muttered, closing his eyes. 

“You won't tell me what you did?”

“Tomorrow.” 

***

It was the best sleep Erik has had for weeks. Maybe that's why he didn't wake up when Sebastian got up, but to the smell of the toasting bread and to Anya's voice. He opened his eyes to see them sitting side by side in front of the fireplace at the other end of the room, Sebastian holding the toaster fork over the fire and Anya leaning to his side, holding a plate ready.

The servant set the table by the window, the morning sun streaming through the colored glass, creating patterns on the floor. He listened their quiet talk, too content to bother them. 

”If I take you to see the horses, you have to promise to be a good girl, and keep up with your lessons,” Sebastian said. “Do you promise? As a honorable lady?”

”Yes, Father.”

” _All_ your lessons. Even music?” Sebastian pressed.

Erik heard Anya sigh dramatically before promising and he had to laugh. He had tried to interest her on the matter, because music was something any young lady should learn, but she had no natural inclination for it. Erik wasn't skilled with music instruments either, and it had felt unfair to force Anya to practice something he didn't want to practice himself. Maybe Charles would know how to play, to end this squabble. 

Sebastian heard him and glanced at his direction, smiling when he noticed that he was awake. 

”Go fetch your Mother,” he said to Anya. ”Quietly.” 

Anya got up and ran to him, leaning against the side of the bed, her eyes barely peeking over the high edge. She rose to her toes, trying to see over him. 

“Is that my new second mother over there?” 

“Yes it is. But we'll let him sleep this morning. Let's be quiet,” Erik whispered and got up carefully, turning to tug the blanket back in place. Anya craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Charles.

“Mother, he still has no clothes on,” Anya whispered rather loudly, her version of quiet. “Did he lose all his nightshirts again?” 

“Yes Erik, why doesn't he have any clothes on?” Sebastian asked, feigning wide-eyed innocence. “It's funny how that keeps happening.”

Erik made a face at him and he started to laugh, dropping the bread in the fire. The room filled with the smell of burnt toast, and Anya started to laugh in turn as Sebastian tried to fish the bread out of the fire and it plopped right back. 

The pile of duvets moved as Charles woke up to the noise, peeking sleepily to see what happened. Anya squawked and hung to the bed, trying to climb up to meet him. Erik lifted her away and ushered her back toward Sebastian. 

“But I want to say good morning,” Anya complained. 

“In a moment,” Erik said. “Go help Father, before he ruins all the bread, and we are out of breakfast.”

Erik turned back to the bed, nudging the duvet aside to see his face. “Good morning. We should go wash up, if you are ready. And after, there's one eager young lady who wishes to meet you.”

Charles blinked, rubbing his eyes, then glancing down. “I don't think I can move,” he whispered. 

“It just feels like that,” Erik whispered back and smiled to ease his embarrassment. “Here. Let me help.” 

The servant had picked up the all clothes from the floor and set them ready the foot of the bed. Erik reached to take Charles' robe and helped him to put his arms through the sleeves before pushing the covers aside so he could step down from the bed. He moved stiffly, wincing with every step. Erik glanced over his shoulder, and saw that Sebastian was keeping an eye on them, while explaining to Anya why she was addressed lady by her first name, but Charles would be addressed lady by his new last name instead. By the look on Anya's face, the explanation went straight over her head.

Erik closed the door behind them. Charles was pale and shaky, holding on to the edge of the washstand for support. Erik took a washcloth from the stack and moistened it in the basin, then pressed it against back of Charles' neck. He startled when the cold water trickled down his chest. 

“Firewine gives a nasty hangover, if you aren't use to it. Hold this, it will help with the headache.” He washed his hands in the basin, drying them into a towel. “May I take a look?”

He looked confused for a moment, before he understood what he meant and then he nodded, blushing. 

Erik pushed the robe out of the way, pressing his palm over his stomach, for bit of warmth and slid his hand between his legs, finding the plug. Charles grabbed his arm, still holding the towel pressed against his neck. He looked worried. 

“Try to relax,” Erik said, and pulled the plug away as quick and smooth as he possibly could. It wasn't smooth enough, since Charles yelped, digging his fingers in his arm. Erik set the plug aside, keeping it out of his sight. 

He touched him again, inspecting the damage as gently as he possibly could. Charles winced. 

“I'm sorry. Do you feel sore?”

“A bit, my lord.”

“Erik,” he said. “We've seen each other naked, I think that warrants you to use my name.” He pulled his hand away and went to the small medicine box set on a table. He chose a jar and handed it to him.

“Put a small dab of this to the spot that aches the most after you wash up. It should ease that soreness.”

“Thank you, my... Erik.”

“That sounds better,” he said and went to fetch the metal bucket by the fireplace. The water had kept warm there, and he carried it to the washstand, filling the basin for him. “There. I leave you to it. There's clean clothes in that trunk, take whatever fits. Come eat when you are ready.”

He went back to the bedroom, and found Sebastian cutting the blackened crust away under Anya's watchful eye. There was preserves, jams and fruit on the table, with a thin sliced meat, cheese and eggs set on a tray. They looked up, with similar curious expressions. 

“Everything alright?” Sebastian asked.

“Do you think he'll have a brother for me?” Anya asked, like she expected Charles to step out of the wash room with a baby in his arms already. 

Erik smiled at them both and stopped to take his pants and jacket from the bed before joining them at the table. “Everything is fine. And you, young lady, you don't have to bother yourself with baby making. Father will take care of that.”

“Thank you for the confidence. I hope to rise to your expectations,” Sebastian said. 

“I'm sure you will rise,” Erik teased and before Anya could ask what that meant, Erik sat down next to her, smiling. “Anya, would you like to give the new mother a gift from you?”

“From me?”

“Yes. I thought you could wish him welcome to the family.” Erik took the black pouch from his coat pocket and handed it to her. Sebastian looked at it, curious, but he said nothing. He buttered a piece of bread and handed it to him. Erik bit to it. It was burnt, but he liked it that way.

Anya shook the pouch, the contents rattling quietly. 

“What is it?”

“You'll see,” Erik said. “Let's have breakfast in bed, shall we? You can tell us about the fireworks.”

They took their plates and climbed in the bed, Anya plopped in the middle. She described all the fireworks she had seen from her window, which actually had been more than what either of them had seen. Sebastian told her about the candle they had lighted on her behalf at the wedding and she was pleased that the small deities had liked it. 

They talked quite the while and Erik was about to get up and go see if Charles was alright, when the washroom door opened and he stepped out. He had found clothes that somewhat fit him, and his hair was wet, curling around his ears. His color had improved, and he looked better.

Anya bounced up when she noticed him, hopping on the bed, her bare feet sinking in the pillows. 

“Good morning, second mother! Morning, morning!”

“I'm sorry, she's excited,” Erik said, reaching to grab her waist, so she wouldn't fall over the plates. “This is Anya. Anya, this is Charles. What were you supposed to do, you remember?”

“A present, a present,” Anya chanted, clutching the pouch to her chest. “I have a present!”

“Good morning, Anya. Pleasure to meet you,” Charles said and sat at the foot of the bed. “And you got a present? You are lucky girl! What is it?” 

“No, its present for you,” she corrected and sat down with a thump, then crawled closer to toss the pouch in his lap. “Happy, happy welcome here!” she declared as her big finish, before crawling back to Erik. 

“Welcome to the family,” Sebastian corrected, and Anya got a pout of shyness, pressing to Erik's side. 

“Welcome to family,” she muttered and Erik squeezed her reassuringly. 

“Thank you so much, how nice of you,” Charles said and turned the pouch in his hands, shaking it slightly. “What is it? Did you make it yourself?” 

Anya shook her head. “Mother did it.”

“Open and see,” Erik said. 

They all watched as he pulled the string and tipped the bag, holding his hand open to catch what would fall out. The sapphires poured out in a sparkling stream, filling his palm and scattering on the duvet in deep blue sparks. The last stone fell with a quiet dink. It was bigger than the others, maybe size of a fist of a child. Charles stared at his hand, mouth open in surprise. Anya squealed in delight and bounced to capture one of the gems rolling away. 

“Are these...But how?” Charles asked, stunned.

“I happened upon them,” Erik said. “A stroke of luck, one might say.”

“What's their meaning?” Sebastian asked as Anya handed him one and he turned the gem in his palm. “Lovely quality.”

“My mother had sapphires that she wanted to give me and she couldn't,” Charles explained. “And these look similar. _Very_ similar.” 

“Ah. You moved past stealing shirts then,” Sebastian muttered to Erik. “Well done.”

Erik smiled and took a gem that Anya handed to him. He held it up, admiring its depth and sparkle.

“Are you going to make a necklace out of them?” Anya asked.

“Or you can buy something with these, if you like.” Erik reached to hand the gem back to Charles. “Hire an expert, for example. I know people who can arrange something special for your step-father in exchange of these, no questions asked.”

“As do I,” Sebastian added, placing his gem back to Charles hand. “Stone cold professionals, with lots of specialties.”

Charles sat there, looking back and forth between them. Erik couldn't read his expression, and he glanced at Sebastian. Maybe he had done a mistake giving the sapphires to him like this, suggesting vengeance. He might not have the stomach for it, like they did.

“Or you could buy a horse!” Anya declared, breaking the strange moment. She held the biggest gem in her hands, pressing it against her eye to peer through it. “Or have fireworks for every night!”

“Every night? But how could anyone sleep?” Erik asked, pulling Anya under his arm. 

“You didn't ask if Charles likes fireworks, little fire lady,” Sebastian added, pulling her under his arm instead. “Maybe he wants thousand bottles of sparkling wine to fill his bath instead, you don't know!”

Anya laughed to idea and so did Charles, his laughter bit reserved but genuine. “Maybe a necklace would be the best choice. Mothers should have jewelry, shouldn't they? Something to give to their little ladies?”

Anya bounced, thrilled and went to his side, explaining what kind of necklace she had and what Charles should have too. He smiled and took her under his arm, admiring the gems with her. 

“He will fit in fine,” Sebastian said quietly, and Erik nodded. He certainly would.

**Author's Note:**

> I used the first part (the original [kink meme fill + prompt](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/8700.html?thread=20573948#t20573948)) as the basis of the mix, but I tried to stay in tune with the rest of Not_You's ongoing series [It's Weird When Shaw Is Nice](http://archiveofourown.org/series/29935) and their worldbuilding.   
> It wasn't a hundred percent success, the major difference is that I have Emma in different role for what she has later in the original series, but I hope this can be forgiven.


End file.
